


You're the one thing I will not lose

by Aisfor



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Riverdale Holiday Exchange 2017, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-14 19:52:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13014981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisfor/pseuds/Aisfor
Summary: “Let’s get married.” Because graduation is mere months away and the four of them escaping to New York was only ever a pipe dream. Because try as she might, even Betty Cooper can’t make up for all the school missed for crime solving, murder, assault, civil wars and the rest. Youth was only ever a façade anyway, playing pretend like all of this wasn’t happening. That they were innocent. That he wasn’t heir to the throne of the Serpents.But it did happen. They will never reclaim their innocence and he’s just a few years away from taking the crown off his father. They know what they were and what they now are.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PrincessAuroraSnow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessAuroraSnow/gifts).



> Happy holidays to my giftee! I took your prompt newlyweds and kind of ran with it. It's not really festive, it's a bit angsty but there's a lot of love and friendship which I guess is what this season is all about! I hope you like it!
> 
> Title comes from Fate Don't Know You by Desi Valentine

It’s way past midnight and the sweat is cooling against their skin when she says it, the deep green of the serpent on leather catches her eye in the moonlight.

 

“Let’s get married.” Because graduation is mere months away and the four of them escaping to New York was only ever a pipe dream. Because try as she might, even Betty Cooper can’t make up for all the school missed for crime solving, murder, assault, civil wars and the rest. Youth was only ever a façade anyway, playing pretend like all of this wasn’t happening. That they were innocent. That he wasn’t heir to the throne of the Serpents. But it did happen. They will never reclaim their innocence and he’s just a few years away from taking the crown off his father. They know what they were and what they now are.

 

She has a job as a teaching assistant at the local school one town over to keep face. Jughead takes shifts at the Whyte Wyrm to keep one hand in the Serpents business and earn some money. Crime sometimes pays, but not always. They don’t live in the clouds anymore, but she’s more than happy to live in the real world with him.

 

 Because if their small town has taught them anything, it’s never wait for the right time. There’s never a right time.

 

He pants a breath and says, “Ok.” Because they know what they were and what they now are. He rolls over, catching her hands to pull her to his chest as happy laughter escapes her lips.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

So they take his truck and get married on a Wednesday at city hall. It’s not white lace. It’s not bouquets of expensive flowers. It’s not a seven tier cake that will definitely go dry, before they manage to eat it all. He buys her a ring from a pawn shop, because he can’t afford much else and isn’t part of a family that possesses heirlooms. She cries when he slips it onto her finger, a sense of belonging washing over her like a tidal wave.

 

His ring comes from a street vendor selling cheap silver jewellery. But it doesn’t mean any less as her small fingers push it over his knuckle, tears prickling his eyes when he looks up to find her smiling at him tear tracks down her cheeks. They eat burgers in the park before watching the sun go down from the bed of their cheap hotel room. It’s theirs and they wouldn’t want it any other way.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

Two weeks later he comes back from visiting FP with a scowl etched onto his face. She doesn’t pry, because she knows he’ll tell her on his own terms. This rings true in the early hours of the next morning. He’s awake all hours of the night, so it doesn’t really surprise her when she twists her head to find him staring at their odd coloured ceiling. They really needed to get around to painting that.

 

“I think I’m going to jail.” He states, matter-of-factly.

 

She rolls over completely, tucking her arms under the sheets to find him. Her head planting against his chest, as she winds her arm across his lean torso. “What?”

 

He licks his lips, cracked from being harshly bitten. A habit of his. “I think I’m...”

 

“I heard you.” She listens to the thudding of his heart, calm in his chest. Like they’d had this conservation before, which they had. But only hypothetically.

 

“My dad,” are the next two words he utters and she understands. FP has asked him to do this, to take the fall. She wants to find him and carve the word _coward_ into his forehead.

 

He pauses, a deep breath escaping through his mouth. “Do you trust me?”

 

She blinks. “Always.”

 

He drags a hand through her knotted blonde curls. “You shouldn’t.” It’s a game they play.

 

“It’s a bit late for that.” She smooths the neckline of his shirt, tapping the cool metal of her wedding ring against his jugular vein.

 

He catches her hand as she pulls away, kissing the flesh of her palm. “I’m sorry.” She shakes her head in the negative. He doesn’t have to be sorry. She’s picturing the cutlery drawer and wondering which utensil would work best on FP’s pallid skin.

 

She moves to lay on top of him, pressing him into the mattress as she rake her fingers through his hair. Pulling his forehead to hers. “We survive, us Jones’.” The truth leaving her lips as she leans down to press them against his, drawing them away from his teeth.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

She’s woken a week later to blue and red flashing lights outside the window of their bedroom. He’s already dressed. Perched on the end of the bed finishing the double knot on his combat boots, when the hefty knock comes.

 

She kneels on the mattress, arms circling his waist to whisper into the fabric of his shirt. “I love you.”

 

He kisses the top of her head gently. “I love you too.”

 

Tired eyes peer up at him, stinging from lack of sleep and unshed tears. “Be good, Jug.”

 

He nods, opening his mouth to speak again. Betty shakes her head, her finger finding his lips because she knows what he wants to say. That’s he’s sorry when he doesn’t need to be.

She watches through the blinds as he’s handcuffed, placed into the back of the police car and driven away. She curls herself back into the sheets on his side of the bed, inhaling.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

She calls Veronica the next day. She can’t force herself to visit. Because as much as she loves Veronica, her poker face could use some work.

 

“Jug got arrested.”

 

There’s silence and then an “Oh,” another pause and the sound of a door closing. “Are you ok?”

 

Betty’s eyes flicker to the picture of them on their wedding day, pinned to the cork board in the kitchen. “Yeah.” That’s the truth. She knows Veronica will be there if she’s not.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

Archie is easier. He’s known Jughead for longer. He trusts him to do the right thing and if getting arrested is the right thing, then it’s not his place to say otherwise. He always thought Jughead had a far better compass for right and wrong than him anyway.

 

Betty tells him over the phone as he’s packing the tools into the truck, to take to Fred’s construction site.

 

It was just how they’d told him and Veronica they’d got married, neither were shocked. In Veronica’s words they were _soulmates_. They sounded happier that day, then he’d ever heard them. After all, it was very Betty and Jughead of them.

 

“Let me know when the court date is.” Because even though he trusts Jughead implicitly, be damned if he wasn’t going to be there for his best friend. Even if him showing up would probably be reciprocated with the classic eye roll. The thought makes him grin.

 

“I will.” They’ve survived worse.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

She finds FP at the Whyte Wyrm, having moved into the apartment above to give them the trailer. Betty wasn’t sure if this was a lie that he’d told Jughead and he really wanted to be within walking distance to the bottles, that had ruined his life many times over.

 

He’s not drunk when she gets there, but definitely on his way. She resists the urge to punch him hard in the gut, shouting into his face that he did this to Jughead. Because as much as the path Jughead has taken was his choice, she resents FP for pushing him that way. She hates him for making Jughead blind to all his wrong doings and especially loathes him for placing the blame on his son’s head.

 

She taps him on the shoulder, watching him swivel on the bar stool unsteadily. “Jug’s in jail,” but she knows he already knew that. “The court date is next week if you’re planning on being there.” She hopes he isn’t.

 

He nods, downing the shot of clear liquid. She notes the four others lined up and takes a napkin from the bar. She jots down what she’s just said and leaves it under the empty shot glass. She doesn’t say goodbye.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

Dust gathers atop the bench in front of her and she _almost_ reaches out to swipe it away, how very _Alice Cooper_ of her. Instead she gathers her hands in her lap, observing the skin drag under her fingers as her grip tightens.

 

It’s not a fair trial, but it was never going to be. FP doesn’t show, which she’s happy about and tries not to notice when Jughead looks around for him. The judge more than ready to sentence a gang member to six months in prison, wields the gavel like Thor from the Marvel movies that Archie likes to drag them to. She smiles thinking about the way Jughead’s nose had scrunched at the animated fight scenes between the characters. The way Black Widow’s legs had wrapped around Bucky’s head, making him lean close to her ear to whisper, “ _Maybe we should try that.”_

She’d blushed deep scarlet, taking a hand full of popcorn to flick in his direction. She giggles quietly to herself, which earns her a strange look from Archie who’s gripping her hand like a vice probably more for his sake than hers. She looks up to find Jughead, twisted slightly in his chair smiling at her, as though he knows exactly what she’s thinking about. It reminds her that they can endure this, like they have endured so many things because they’re Betty and Jughead and time is merely an illusion.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

She calls him as often as allowed between their allotted visits. She always asks how he is because if he’s ok, then she’s ok.

 

Every time he asks, “Remember that time I said we should run away?”

 

She stands by the kitchen counter, listening to the tap drip against the metal basin of the sink. “Yeah.”

 

He draws aimlessly on the brick wall in front of him. “Do you wish we had?”

 

She shakes her head and then remembers he can’t see her. “No.” She can almost hear his mouth curving into a small smile and finds her lips doing the same, their way of saying _“we’re still a team”, “I love you”, “I’m never changing my mind.”_

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

“Have you been sleeping?” Is the first thing her mother asks, when she pays her childhood home a visit. They aren’t on good terms, because Alice Cooper was never going to take it well hearing that her youngest daughter had married her gang member boyfriend at eighteen. But it doesn’t mean she doesn’t understand. Because if Alice knows anything, it’s that the Serpent life was a mistake for her. But Betty isn’t her and she isn’t Betty and she can’t hold her daughter in the past forever.

 

Betty nods and Alice makes tea, and that’s that. They may not be the same but it doesn’t mean they don’t understand each other.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

She finds out on the Tuesday after the graduation, that she doesn’t attend, in the bathroom of the nearest drug store which makes her feel utterly like a teenager in trouble. She’d not really given it much thought. The nauseous ache in her stomach, being put down to the stress of her husband in prison. The lack of her period arriving, wasn’t something she paid attention to. She’d never been all that regular anyway. It’s not until she finds herself baulking at the smell of pancakes, on her weekly visit to the Pembrooke, that the thought comes about.

 

By mid-morning she’s stood staring at a shelf covered in an array of rectangular boxes. She’s not sure what to pick until a hand snakes out from behind her, placing one in her open palm. She looks to Veronica, who shrugs in reply. Her way of saying they didn’t need to talk about right now, but someday. She doesn’t want to wait to get back to the trailer or the Pembrooke, so locks herself in the bathroom, telling Veronica she wanted to be alone as it doesn’t seem right with anyone but Jughead.

 

She tells herself initially that it must be a false positive. Not because she didn’t believe the Universe could screw her like this, take her husband away at the precise moment she’s growing their first child. The Universe had screwed her plenty. Because in that moment, she’s without a doubt never wanted anything more. She opens the door to poke her head out, requesting Veronica buy a few ( _ten)_ more to be sure. 

 

She leaves them all on the sink for the allotted amount of time, sipping the bottle of water Veronica had bought her in between. Flipping each over in turn and smiling wider. Her hands finding the still flat lines of her stomach as she opens to the door to find an anxious Veronica on the other side. Smiling happily as she’s engulfed in a hug, raven coloured hair itches her face, but she can’t find it in herself to mind.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

“Are you going to tell him?” Veronica asks, a while later.

 

Her gut instinct tells her no. Because he’d never forgive himself for not being there for her. But he would be eventually, so she meets herself half way.

 

“I’ll wait until the Doctor’s appointment.” The next time she visits him, the image of eleven positive tests lined up on the porcelain basin flash in her mind. As he takes his seat on the other side of the glass, smiling at her, guilt eats away in the pit of her stomach. She tells herself it’s a _good_ secret to keep, for now.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

She tells Alice. Alice makes more tea.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

Veronica and Archie both offer to accompany her to the appointment. But much like taking the test itself, it doesn’t feel right to have anyone there but Jughead. The waiting room is somewhat empty when she arrives apart from a couple of women, seemingly further along in their pregnancy than her. One grunts as she gets helped out of the chair by her significant other and it makes Betty’s stomach flip with sadness.

 

Instead of focusing on that, she looks to the posters dotted along the walls. All telling her what and what not to do. She makes a mental note to pick up a few of the food items they suggest eating on her way home, after her visit to the bookstore for all the pregnancy books she can afford.

 

The Doctor confirms it with a cheery grin, telling Betty congratulations. It’s worked out when her due date will be, before the end of the year they’ll be something that’s a mixture of her and Jughead in the world. The idea makes her heart flip. She’s given a prescription for a pre-natal concoction and makes her next appointment with the receptionist, stopping by the poster again to make sure the food list on her phone is correct. Despite the obvious terror of growing a human, her stomach is still in an excited knot when she gets back to the trailer.

 

She calls Veronica, who squeals happily discussing how she’s already bought several gender neutral items because she simply couldn’t help herself and Betty grins wider. Her cheeks are already beginning to hurt from smiling, but she can’t shake the feeling of uneasiness of Jughead not knowing. So she promises herself the next time she visits, she’ll tell him.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

Seven weeks turns into eight and she has to miss a visit because another teaching assistant is off sick. Archie goes to see him instead and she’s grateful. She’s just peeling off her coat at the door, reading an email Alice had sent detailing all the baby clothes she’d found in their attic suitable for both a boy and a girl, when her phone rings. She answers and waits for the automated message to end so she can accept the call, listening to the tone as it connects.

 

“Betts?”

 

She grins. “No, it’s your other wife.” She hears him chuckle, raspy and soft. It makes her stomach lurch.

 

“Damn, I knew this polygamy thing would catch up with me eventually.” She can imagine him smiling.

 

“Lesson learned,” He laughs again. “How are you?” That question more important now,than ever.

 

“I’m ok. I’ve been writing a little.” There’s happiness in his voice.

 

“Yeah?” She smiles thinking of him doing so.

 

“Yeah. Because there’s not enough prison stories in the world, obviously.”

 

“Maybe you can let me take a look at your grammar, when we’re together again.” He’s silent for a while and she knows he’s counting down the days just as much as she is.

 

“I’ll have you know; Betty Cooper, my grammar is excellent.”

 

“Betty Jones.” She scolds.

 

He sighs. “Sometimes I forget that’s…real.” She wants to tell him there and then that he’s going to be a dad. But it doesn’t feel right over the phone.

 

Instead she says, “I love you, Jug.” But even that doesn’t seem like the right phrase to convey exactly what she feels.

 

“I love you too.” He feels the same way.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

Eight weeks turns into eleven and her bump is starting to show, so much so that Veronica let out a tiny sob at the sight of it when she visited. She got a call on week nine to find that after a fight between inmates, Jughead was not allowed any visitors for two weeks due to solitary confinement. He calls to apologise and the urge to punch FP between the eyes reenters her mind.

 

She tries to feel reassured when he tells her that he’s only come out of it with a black eye. But it only adds fuel to the fire and she spends nights crying into _his_ pillow because she doesn’t want to do this alone. But days spent around small children at work, dinner with Veronica, or Alice or Archie. It all helps. But when she finds herself at the store buying a carton of oranges because she can’t get the craving out of her mind, guilt seeps into her stomach that he still doesn’t know. She wants to be able to share this with him.

 

With that in mind, she buys a scrapbook to make notes and stick the pictures from her upcoming scan. She imagines a grin on his face as he flicks through it.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

She wakes up to the phone ringing, the sound making her sit upright so suddenly that her head spins.

 

She grasps the phone through bleary eyes, sliding to connect the call. “Veronica, it’s the crack of dawn. If this is about a car seat again, we definitely don’t need one when I’ve not even had a scan yet.”

 

There’s a pause. Then, “Mrs Jones?”

 

It’s not Veronica and her stomach bottoms out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 is here! I hope you like it, as much as I enjoyed writing it! 
> 
> Title comes from Fate Don't Know You by Desi Valentine

Veronica is the one to finds her, when she lets herself into the trailer not minutes later to discuss paint samples for a nursery they don’t even have. She comes to a stop when she spots Betty sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall. Noticing how she grips the phone in her hand so tight, her fingertips have turned white. Veronica bends down in front of her, toeing off her stilettos in the process. She pries the phone from Betty’s vice like grip as she continues staring, unblinking.

 

“Hello?” Veronica speaks into the phone.

 

Betty can barely hear it over the sound of her own unsteady breathing. Her vision murky as though she’s underwater.

 

Veronica’s eyes flick to Betty. “Yes, this is she…ok. I understand.” Betty gathers she’s pretending to be her, before Veronica says, “I’ll be there.” 

 

Veronica stands, throwing the phone on to the bed beside Betty. “Right, we need to get you dressed.” Betty’s mouth opens and closes. Taking this as an agreement, Veronica moves towards the wardrobe coming back with a shirt and jeans, then asking Betty to raise her arms.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

She’s not sure she’s even seen Veronica drive until today. Which seems a stupid observation in light of where they’re going. But it’s all she can think of to stop herself from being sick on the dashboard. Veronica brakes hard at a red light, grinding the gears in a way that would definitely cause Jughead to scrunch his nose. The thought makes her want to giggle again, like she had in court, and she wonders if she’s going insane.

 

The light goes green and there’s a muttered, _“shit”_ from Veronica before they skid off down the road. She can hear Veronica telling her she’s called work already, that she’s told Archie, that everything is going to be fine. It’s supposed to be reassuring but all it makes her think of is what are the chances that everything would be _fine_. Because when people say fine, is it every really fine. Jughead knew when she said it, it usually meant she was anything but.

 

She’s thinking about the time they lost when they were both naïve enough to think that it was _better_ to be apart. The time they’re losing now. The first time he kissed her, said ‘I love you’, how he healed her cracked soul and she his, moved in together, got married. It’s playing backwards like time is erasing the moments and she’s too slow stop it.

 

All she wants is more time with him.

 

They arrive at the hospital and Veronica leaves the car diagonal between two spaces. Betty briefly considers how she’d be at parallel parking. She comes around to Betty’s side, leading her inside with a tight grasp on her arm. Her heart continues to thud in her ears. Veronica settles her into a seat and leaves to speak to reception. Everything continues to blur like she’s drowning and the water is filling her lungs, making her see spots. She wonders if he’ll ever get to meet their baby. If she’ll ever get to watch their baby scrunch their tiny fists against his chest, as they’re lulled to sleep by their father’s heartbeat.

 

Veronica drops into a seat beside her, tangling their fingers together and squeezing. “He’s in surgery.”

 

Betty clears her throat, her voice coming out garbled. “But he’s…” Veronica nods, squeezing again.

 

“The nurse will come and speak to you soon.” It’s Betty’s turn to nod.

 

Archie arrives and takes Betty’s free hand in his own sweaty palm, clutching probably harder than he realises. She wants Jughead to hold her hand.

 

When the nurse does appear, she talks them through Jughead’s injuries and Betty tries her best to not choke on the bile in her throat. She can see out the corner of her eye, Veronica taking notes on a thin napkin seeing the words ‘stab wounds’, ‘internal bleeding’, ‘extensive blood loss’ and ‘pneumothorax’ in her overly neat handwriting.

 

Betty finds herself twisting her wedding band, to stop her hands curling into fists. She wants to be there to tell him he’s safe, he’s loved and that everything will get better.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

Two hours later, the same nurse reappears to tell the three of them that he’s out of surgery and doing alright. She tells them that he’s been placed in a medically induced coma to allow his body time to recover from the surgery.

 

Veronica makes another note on her napkin.

 

They’re told he can have family members into visit him, as he’s still a prisoner. Archie tuts at the comment. The nurse looks pointedly at Betty and she remembers that _family members_ means her.

 

She’d honestly rather not do it alone, for fear of what’s going to greet her behind the door. But then she realises the nurse is already walking away and Veronica is pushing her to follow. Betty whips around wide eyed catching Veronica as she mouths _it’ll be ok_. So she catches up to the nurse. Behind her Veronica is already deep into a conversation with another nurse about the terms on her napkin.

 

The nurse opens the door, stopping just on the threshold. “It’s not as scary as it looks, I promise.”

 

Betty nods, her tongue feeling heavy in her mouth. The nurse moves to allow her in and the lead weight in her stomach seems to drop a little further. It’s the worst she’s ever seen him look. If he were in a line up she’s not even confident she’d be able to pick him out. His face is bruised and swollen down the right side, a cut starting at his eye to his jawline has been sutured. There’s a tube coming out of his mouth and the IV from his arm. Bruises litter both arms, her eyes are drawn to his ring finger missing his wedding band. At the indentations that were only just starting to develop and had already begun to fade away.

 

The handcuffs that are sealed around his wrist, restraining him to the bed makes her blood boil. Her eyes flicking from it, to the officer sat near the window watching her. She knows who she’s angry with and it’s not the police offer assigned to do his job. So she sits by the bed intertwining her fingers with his, relishing in the feeling of his skin on hers. Her free hand finds her swollen belly, whispering “We love you Juggie,” to the skin of his palm.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

It’s another week, her bump extends further, the weather is getting warmer and they bring Jughead out of his coma. For that week, she lives in limbo. Not sure if she’s surviving or merely existing. Waiting to see a familiar set of blue eyes crack open and that soft kind of smile he reserves only for her. She tells him about the baby, whispering it against his cheek as she places kiss upon kiss. Quiet enough not to be overheard because no more people should know before he does.

 

She tells him about the scrapbook she’s making, her cravings which seem to change daily (it’s currently apple slices dipped in peanut butter), the stockpile of teeny tiny clothes that’s already accumulating in their bedroom because Veronica is a force to be reckoned with. She tells him she’s started (trying) to knit a hat just like his, because they’ll have a winter baby and she wants a picture of the two of them matching. The thought makes happy tears burn her throat.

 

Then the day comes. His bruises are fading, the cut along his face looks decidedly less angry and he looks more like _her_ Juggie. She’s back at the trailer to shower, because Veronica insisted. Watching the suds wash over her bump, a rush of love shoots through her like static electricity, when her phone rings. She can hear it through the thumping of the water against the tiles, followed by Veronica’s voice speaking to the person on the other end. It’s over as quick as it begins and then there’s a knock on the bathroom door, telling her it was Archie on the line.

 

She drives this time and she’s sure Veronica is more than happy to let her do so. She wants to be there, for him to know that whatever happens they’re in this together. To say no, she doesn’t wish they’d run away when they had the chance. To say _“we’re still a team”, “I love you”, “I’m never changing my mind.”_

 

Her heartbeat is thudding in her ears again, when she gets to the door. Her brain flashing with memories of the first visit, playing in slow motion. She’s briefly aware of Veronica tapping her on the shoulder, saying her and Archie will be in the waiting room. Then the door is open and he’s there. It’s like she can breathe again. She flicks her eyes to the officer who is busying himself with his phone, to avoid intruding. Then she’s in his arms before the clock has chance to strike another ten seconds, trying her best not to squeeze him like her life depends on it. His free hand finds her hair, stroking it soothingly as she cries hot tears into his neck. His lips finding as much of her skin as he can.

 

She pulls back, speaking against the skin of his dry lips, “How are you?”

 

His eyes close and open slowly. “All the better for seeing you.”

 

She laughs. It sounds foreign to her ears. “You promised me you’d be good.”

 

“Funnily enough the guy who shanked me, didn’t seem to care much about what I’d promised my wife.”

 

Her stomach flips. “It’s not funny.” Her eyes flicker closed as his hand finds her cheek, stroking his calloused thumb across the bone.

 

“Hey.” His hand is then sliding down along her hip. She sucks in a breath as his fingers stutter at the stretched skin of her bump, a questioning look appearing on his face. A silent _“Are you…”_ hangs on the air. She nods, his eyes going soft like they do every time she calls him her husband.

 

He blinks heavily for a moment, like he can’t quite believe what’s in front of him. There’s an imperceptible moment where doubt creeps in to her brain, like freezing fog on a winters day.

 

Then he says, “You’re never going to have to do for me, what I have done for my dad.”

His hand finds the place where their baby is growing and she sees light through the fog.

 

Betty bites back a smile. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you straight away.” He shakes his head, without taking his gaze from her stomach.

 

“Don’t be. if you thought it was the right decision, then it was the right decision.” Betty nods, her heart jumping with he pulls her closer to rest his head against her clothed bump. “I’m sorry that I can’t be around, for you both.”

 

She strokes his hair. “Soon.”

 

He kisses the fabric of her shirt. “Soon.” She continues to draw her hands through the dark curls as she relays all the things she told him while he was sleeping, the soft smile he keeps just for her appears on his face.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

The following week Jughead is released to the prison infirmary, for the last part of his recuperation. Betty goes back to work, the normality feeling strange but necessary. She starts craving mashed bananas on toast and her sonogram appointment comes around. She goes alone, because it wouldn’t feel right with anyone other than Jughead. The rate her bump seems to be growing, she’s already wearing a pair of Alice’s old maternity trousers that billow in the summer breeze. Veronica has taken to calling her MC Hammer.

 

She tries to push down the anger that flares, when the technician’s eyes narrow in pity at finding out that no, the baby’s father will not be joining her today. But then the gel is on her stomach and her baby is being pointed out, all grey squiggly lines. She’s not sure she’s ever seen anything more incredible in her whole life. She’s already imagining this baby as a little boy the exact spitting image of his father or a girl with blonde curls and Jughead’s blue eyes.

 

She leaves with a stack of pictures, the news that their baby is perfectly healthy and emotion bubbling in her chest.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

The second trimester starts with difficulty sleeping, the desire to eat everything covered in mustard, browsing online after finally conceding she _probably_ does need to start shopping for maternity clothes. It culminates with her mother bringing a blanket to the trailer, that she once used and a movie night at the Andrews residence.

 

They order pizza, Betty dips her slice in mustard.

 

They did this, before _everything_. There’d be half an hour purely dedicated to an argument about which film they’d be watching. Jughead refused flat out to watch anything containing Jonah Hill or James Franco. Resulting in him kissing her cheek sloppily whenever he got the choice he wanted, making her giggle as he pulled her back against his chest to watch the credits roll.

 

She’d always fall asleep halfway through, waking only as she’s being lifted from the couch in Jughead’s arms and carried across to her house. He’d nod towards Alice, who nodded back before ascending the stairs towards her bedroom. Chuckling as he reversed, after muddled complaints from Betty that she needed to brush her teeth. They’d curl in her bed with her ice cold feet making patterns on his calves, provoking him to tickle until she whispers for mercy through her laughter. Their bodies comfortably tangled together, lulling each other to sleep.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

Fifteen weeks is a visit to see Jughead and holding the sonogram photo to the glass, causing him to go silent for a full fifteen minutes as he stares in awe at what they’ve created. He tells her the picture looks like her and she laughs.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

Sixteen weeks is Betty frowning at her growing hips in the bathroom mirror after ripping the seam of her favourite jeans, convinced she can get another week out of them. It’s finally purchasing a pair of maternity jeans with Veronica’s help, after no luck online and deciding she might never go back from an elasticated waist. She writes it in the scrapbook.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

Her second sonogram leaves her feeling the same rush of love as she watches their baby, bigger and stronger (exactly the measurements they should be, the technician says) wriggling around inside of her.

 

They ask if she’d like to know the gender, which Betty suspected they would from the books she’s been reading. Despite Veronica pleading, because it would make buying muslin cloths _so much_ easier, she shakes her head. Because she wants to know, when Jughead knows. The pictures go in the scrapbook, keeping one for their next visit.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

She’s half way through a plate of rice cakes (a new craving), when her phone rings. The robotic voice that she’s become used to, plays out and then she clicks to accept.

 

There’s a pause and then, “Hello?”

 

“Hi,” Betty grins, dusting crumbs collecting on her belly. “How are you?”

 

He exhales and she feels like she can hear him smile. “I’m ok.” Another pause, “How’s baby Jones?” They’ve taken to calling them that.

 

“Baby Jones is very active, according to the technician at the scan.”

 

“Can you feel it?” He asks, expectantly.

 

“Not yet.” But she was hoping for some flutters soon.

 

“You’ll let me know though?” She wishes he could be here to feel it himself.

 

“Of course, Jug.” She strokes her hand against the stretched skin. “Maybe you can read your writing to them.”

 

He chuckles. “I don’t know if they’d like it.”

 

“They are your child; I think they’d enjoy that more than The Very Hungry Caterpillar.” He laughs again and her heart skips.

 

He coughs. “We’re halfway.” Three months gone of his sentence, three more to go. She’ll be around seven months by that point.

 

“Halfway.” They’re surviving.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

It’s the next night as she’s massaging moisturiser into her skin (it had been incredibly dry since the start of her second trimester) when she feels the almost imperceptible fluttering sensation in her stomach.  She disregards it initially, until it happens again the next night and she finds herself flicking through the baby book on her bedside table to discover that, no, nothing is wrong. But it is her baby moving. She smiles happily as she strokes along the skin, saying hello, telling them she loves them and that she always will. Later she writes it in the scrapbook, with her hand firmly on the swell of her belly.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

A fortnight goes by and Veronica and Archie have started to come over most evenings to occupy her mind, sitting in front of the television to watch whatever new cooking show is on. During her twentieth week they bring her a pregnancy pillow, that they saw online, after remembering her saying she was finding it difficult to fall asleep. She cuddles up to it on the chair and promptly falls asleep for the rest of Masterchef.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

The weather’s starts to cool slightly, as summer is coming to end. Now content that she can leave the house is something other than a vest and a flowy skirt, she decides on her day off, the following week to take the truck three towns over to visit Polly and the twins.

 

Polly opens the door as a high pitched toddler squeal comes from somewhere behind her. She looks Betty up and down, eyes stopping briefly on her midsection before smiling.

 

“Us Cooper women are incredibly fertile it seems.”

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

Her twenty second week is resisting the urge to itch across her stomach as the skin stretches, a visit to Jughead who makes her stand and twirl from behind the glass so he can see every angle of the bump with a big toothy grin on his face and crying when a contestant’s cake topples on The Great British Bake Off.

 

The week after the children at work start asking if they can touch her bump, making grabby hands with their chubby fingers. So she agrees, as long as they finish all their spellings.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

Week twenty-four is Fred arriving at the trailer with toolbox in hand and the parts of a crib in the back of his truck ready to be assembled. She doesn’t have it in her heart to tell him it’s potentially a little early to do so, so she sits on the floor and passes the corresponding tools when he asks.

 

She gets a bit teary every time she comes into their bedroom and sees it.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

The next three weeks comprise of visits with Jughead, where they countdown to the date they’ll be together again, the start of back pain that has her taking a bath most nights, more maternity shopping with Veronica because she’s got too big for most of her shirts and one of her favourite parts; real kicks and jabs from the little human she’s growing. Like they’re promising her they’re ok, saying sorry for sitting on her bladder and that they’ll carry on cooking a little while longer.

 

Then the twenty eighth week arrives and she’s driving to the prison to take him home. The wind whips around her hair as she leans against the truck, watching the wrought iron gates for any sign of movement as they creak from age. It’s then, as she looks down, that the door finally opens and the call for someone to open the gates and then he’s there. She’s checking him over and then in his arms before she’s taken her next breath, he smells unfamiliar but there’s still a hint of _home_ as he presses kisses against her hairline. His hands finding her bump finally feeling for the first time, tears making tracks down her face.

 

He whispers, “Never again.” Betty nods animatedly, her lips sealing over his in a promise.

 

\---------------------------------------------

 

The first night home, she’d shown him the scrapbook she’d made and he’d proceeded to make almost inaudible sounds of joy as he flicked through the pages, hastily wiping his eyes glassy from tears before returning to investigating the surface of her swollen belly.

 

He never thought he’d get to this point, to be a dad. He’d spent more than a few nights contemplating if it was in his DNA to do a poor job. But in reality, he’s not FP. His child will not experience what he did. Because even if he may never get out, his child will never know that life. He knows Betty will be there to support him as he is her, because they’re a team and they’ve survived. Now they’ll thrive.

 

Their son is born two weeks early at the end of the holiday season. Betty goes into labour unexpectedly just before the New Year. Jughead wakes up early morning to find her hunched over the half packed boxes, having found a small house just outside Riverdale to rent, hand against her large bump as her nose twitches from pain.  Then an arduous seventeen hours later as the moon comes into view, their son greets the world kicking and screaming with a shock of black hair and the cutest button nose Jughead has ever seen.

 

As he watches his son yawn, fists screwed tight, he whispers promises of love, swears they will endeavour to give him the best life they can and that he will never have to wear the mark of the Serpent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I modelled Veronica's driving off my own when I first started taking lessons

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays everyone regardless of what you celebrate!


End file.
